


Semenaide, Kesanaide, Makenaide

by mercurybard



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: au_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-26
Updated: 2010-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-13 09:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/135781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurybard/pseuds/mercurybard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The warehouse is a spaceship, Leena's the Navigator, and Pete's the new pilot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Semenaide, Kesanaide, Makenaide

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my au_bingo card. Prompt - Future: In Space!!! Warehouse 13 ain't mine, and I make no claim. Title comes from Outlaw Star's opening theme and translates as "don't make fun of it, don't destroy it, don't cheapen it".

As far as accommodations went, Pete had slept in worse. A lot worse. Hell, there'd been his sixteen month tour on the _Nguyen Hue_ where he'd shared a cabin with five other Marines...and they'd been hot-bunking.

Still, his quarters on the _K39-ZZZ_ (aka “Warehouse 13”) weren't what he'd call 'spacious'. A narrow bunk, a desk with chair (bolted to the deck), and a built-in wall locker were crammed in so tightly that he could barely turn around. But despite the lack of elbow room, it was very apparent that this wasn't a military ship. The quilt on the bunk, for starters, that looked like it had been hand sewn from patches of cast-off fabric. It was well-worn, the fabric of one corner so frayed that the batting had started leaking out in little fuzzy puffs. Someone had hung a picture in a plastic frame over the desk--a seascape taken on a planet with three moons and an asteroid belt glittering like a band of diamonds in the night sky. Next to the door, right above the light panel, was a dark mark. Pete could picture himself lying on the bed and throwing a shoe at the sensor, trying to turn out the overheads without getting up.

Dropping his duffel on the floor, Pete flopped down on the bunk, testing the thin mattress. It made a valiant effort to conform to his shape...but failed and left him lying in a valley that didn't have near enough padding under his hips. Oh well, he'd slept on worse.

He was just starting to doze off when the door opened and the Navigator, Leena, poked her head in. "Everything to your liking?" she asked.

"Ask me in the morning after this mattress's had its chance to do its worse," Pete replied, sitting back up and putting his feet on the floor. The deckplates were cold beneath his bare feet, and he could feel the distant rattle of the engines. The _K39-ZZZ_ was possibly the oldest ship he'd ever set foot on, and someone with an ear as well trained as his could pick that up immediately. New ships ran quiet as a tomb.

"If it's a problem, we can always try to scourge something else up," she said, skirting his duffel and taking up a spot on the wall directly across from him, one hand resting on the back of the desk chair. "I can't promise you anything, but there might be a spare in the secondary cargo hold. So much stuff has been shoved back there over the years. Someone really should go weed through it. See what's worth keeping, and what we can throw away."

Their introduction when Artie had first brought Pete on board had been brief--a quick "that's our navigator, Leena" as Artie hustled him through the ship's corridors on a whirlwind tour. Pete had gotten the impression of a petite woman with dark skin and wiry red-brown hair dressed in a light-weight tan sundress dotted with orange and blue flowers. None of that impression had been wrong, but he hadn't noticed that her eyes were very light brown, almost hazel, and that she had a cute little snub nose. "I'll let you know," he said with what he'd been assured was a winning smile. "And maybe I can help with the weeding."

"That'd be nice," she said and then fell silent.

Awkward silence hung between them for a minute...two, before Pete spoke up. "So, you're the navigator. Guess that means we'll be working together pretty closely."

Her hand moved from the back of the desk chair to the hem of her tunic. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. When Artie said I was the navigator, he meant 'Navigator'...big 'N'."

"Oh." Pete's jaw might be hanging open, but it was well-deserved. There were people who navigated ships across the galaxy, and then there were Navigators, who were basically a different species. The Domovar had taken humans and twisted and tweaked them until they practically became the soul of the ship they were assigned to. Biomechanoid creatures that, when jacked in, could sense every one of the ship's systems and assist the pilot in navigating through the torrents of slipspace. The sheer level of awareness of the ship that they possessed made them invaluable, especially for military vessels and those vehicles that spent a great deal of time maneuvering through slipspace. Navigators were also very rare. He'd never heard of one working on a ship this small.

Nor had he ever gotten the chance to pilot a ship navigated by one. Back in flight school, one of his instructors had told him about the handful of times he'd been privileged enough to work with a Navigator during the war. "You jack in to pilot, and he's right there, in your head. He knows your thoughts before you've even got time to think them. Fuck, it's creepy, but it's not something you'll ever forget," he'd been told.

With a bit of effort, he managed to shut his mouth before he accidentally drooled. "I've never worked with a Navigator before," he admitted.

Leena nodded. "I know."

"You know?"

"It's in your profile," she said. "But, I can tell anyway. You're not quite in tune. Not the way you could be."

Pete shook his head. "Sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Come here," she said, holding out her hands.

He looked at them--small hands, neatly trimmed fingernails decorating with a pale coral polish--for a moment before placing his much larger ones in them. She gave a little tug, not quite helping him off the bed, but merely making the suggestion that he should get up and come with her. "Where are we going?" he asked as she keyed the door by waving an elbow in front of the lock plate and then backed into the hall, towing him with her.

"The bridge. It's third watch, and we're out in the middle of nowhere, so it should be empty." She let go of one of his hands briefly, spinning so she could lead, and then catching it again behind her back. "If we were in a more populated region of space, Artie would either take whatever project he's working on up to the bridge, or Claudia would nap curled up in the pilot's seat. We've been running short-handed for a long time."

"Why?" Obviously, Mrs. Frederic had some pull if she'd been able to pluck Myka Berring off a prime detail and drag him out of suspension. She'd flown them half way across known space on a civilian luxury liner only to turn them over to an understaffed flying warehouse that looked like it had been built in the first years of the Overlords' reign and had possibly seen service in every war since then.

"Artie, mostly. He doesn't like new people. I've been on Warehouse 13 almost as long as he has."

"And Claudia?" From the way the young engineer talked, she'd only been on the ship for a few months.

"Stowaway that he can't get rid of--though believe me, he tried. She just turned up in the secondary cargo hold soon after we left Anemal V."

They climbed the narrow metal stairs up to the next deck of the ship, passing the little lounge and the passenger dorms' head and the infirmary. As promised, the bridge was empty. The overheads were off, but there was more than enough light coming from the hundreds of winking controls on the consol. Leena let go of his hands and crossed to the corner where a narrow tank--just wide enough in diameter to fit a human being--reached from floor to ceiling. There was a ladder built into the side of the tank, reaching up to a hatch in the ceiling. She thumbed a button on the control panel set into the side of the tank, and it lit up from within, purple light playing over her features.

A Navigator's tank. He hadn't even noticed it the first time they'd been on the bridge, so wrapped up in checking out the controls, trying to make sense of the archaic systems he was expected to the handle.

Leena must have noticed him watching. Must have planned this so he would be watching. She reached up to where her sundress tied at the back of her neck and slowly undid the knot that held it in place. The top part flopped down, and she turned so he had a good view of her small, pert breasts. "I'm a second-generation Navigator. The Domovar took a human fetus and altered it to meet their specifications. A surrogate carried me to term in her womb, and I was born like a normal human." She wiggled a little to get the dress down past her hips, and it fell to the deck in a crumple of bright colored fabric. "Starting with the third generation, the Overlords manipulated individual ova and sperm prior to conception and then grew the Navigators artificially. They can't exist outside of their tanks."

"But you get to walk around. To live," he finished for her.

“Not as dumb as everyone thinks,” she teased as she pushed him back playfully. The backs of his knees hit the pilot’s chair, and he sat down hard. “Good.” She climbed into his lap, straddling him and leaning forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. In the cold air of the ship, her nipples had hardened into small, dark peaks.

“Uh…” Pete stuttered. His hands fell to her hips automatically though. She took that as permission to press her mouth to his. Her mouth wasn’t hungry exactly…just insistent as she licked and nibbled on his lower lip. This had to be the weirdest first day he’d ever had, but she was small and warm and tasted a little like cinnamon and a little like antiseptic, so he kissed back, hands tightening on her hips.

His hands slid up her sides and then moved around to her breasts. She began to rock against his hips, breaking the kiss with a gasp as he tweaked a nipple. “If we’re going to work together,” she said, a little breathlessly, “We’re going to have to know each other intimately. To be perfectly in-tune. Pilot and Navigator, joined here—“ she touched her finger to his forehead—“And here.” Laid a hand over his heart. “Sex is just an easy place to start.” She rocked down hard, making him gasp this time.

“It would be easier if I wasn’t wearing pants,” he muttered. He scooped her up—her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist—and managed to stand without staggering. Balancing her on the edge of the consol, he made quick work of his pants.

How much planning had she put into this, he wondered as he slid in and felt the lubricated condom already inside her. Since he came on board? He remembered the small, knowing smile she'd given him when Artie made the introductions. Since Artie had told her there was a new pilot coming? Hot and sort of creepy at the same time.

She reached cold, clever fingers between them, rubbing at her own clit and at his dick as he thrust in and out. Her mouth moved against his chest--sucking, kissing, biting at the thin fabric of his undershirt. Pete buried his face in her hair and breathed in the spicy smell of it as they moved together. She was pushed all the way up against the monitors, one bare foot braced against the edge of the dash and the other hooked behind his knee.

He came with a groan, and in that moment, he heard her voice laughing inside his head, " _Welcome_."


End file.
